


for my beloved, the world (entitlement)

by orphan_account



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, In Dimitri’s POV, Introspection, M/M, ambiguous setting, ambiguous time period
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-11-08 08:01:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20832071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: I can’t stop thinking about dimilix.





	for my beloved, the world (entitlement)

**Author's Note:**

> I can’t stop thinking about dimilix.

Felix says the words again through an open-mouthed kiss, gruffly this time: “Put me to bed, _ boar_.”

His right arm lancing snugly down Felix’s back, Dimitri grunts into his mouth before thrusting his left hand forward, watching Felix drop straight down onto his back, his cot dipping appreciatively with the welcome weight.

In these moments as he envelopes Felix in his warmth, combing the dexterous fingers of his right hand down Felix’s neck, clenching the fingers of his left in the slick heat of Felix’s ass, hissing out grunted moans against Felix’s mouth, Dimitri yearns to excavate his thoughts.

He’s of a mind to ask Felix what this means to him as he says, “Get on your knees” against his jawbone.

He laughs to himself when Felix obeys, a crackling rumble deep in his chest.

He says, “Do you ever think about your body on mine while we’re sparring?”

Of course Felix must catch on to the subtext embedded in those words; Dimitri cannot comprehend engaging him in formal combat without imagining the both of them spread open on the ground, him sucking his need into the stringy nerve of skin beneath Felix’s right ear, slowly fucking into him with his clothed cock, Felix inexplicably naked beneath him. 

His lurid daydreams darken whenever Sylvain happens to interrupt their sparring matches, often during curiously charged intervals, as though he’s mastered the acquired art of eavesdropping with a writer’s finesse. Dimitri understands then, as he does now, what Sylvain wants; he makes no secret of his gaze, heavy with calcified avarice as his eyes roam the length of Felix’s body, thinking himself unwatched, privy to this banquet appeasing his endless appetite.

Should Dimitri confront him, what then? He might make Felix understand what he does to mortal men among gods when he mentions Sylvain, the countless interruptions, his gluttonous intentions. 

Or Felix might dismiss him, saying, “_I’ve heard it all from my dear Annette. Why don’t you offer me something more original, you terrific _ bore_?” _

The Dark Knight might have his friendship, but he cannot take his heart. Not yet, if Dimitri has his way.

But then, did he ever have Felix’s heart to begin with?

“Taste me, boar,” Felix says, his head twisted at a difficult angle.

Clucking, Dimitri spreads his right hand over Felix’s mouth, clamping low on his bottom row of teeth, the biting burn gnawing through his bones as Felix sucks his fingers down.

With his left hand, Dimitri shields Felix’s eyes, enveloping him in an unwavering darkness, leaving him susceptible to every sensation’s profound effect.

He tastes Felix open with a hint of mockery, clucking to himself as his tongue sluices, slurps, sucks on his agonizingly well-tended anus. He’s watched Felix scrub himself raw before; they’re grown men and it wouldn’t do for them to waste water on separate baths in the heat of battle. Sylvain, damn him, _ assists _Felix in these endeavors, in full view of companions and competitors alike!

That alone should have proven his intentions long before now.

Shuddering, Felix pants against his fingers; Dimitri almost doesn’t hear him when he says, “Didn’t come back last night for a reason.”

Shining through a dazed gleam, Dimitri’s lone eye narrows.

Swiftly readjusting his body’s sprawling lunge, he kneels before slowly sliding his length through Felix’s entryway, uncovering Felix’s eyes with his left hand as he says, “Can I assume your favoured Dark Knight is behind this?”

He fucks Felix within an inch of this threshold. 

_ Why can’t he ever understand the visions he conjures in Dimitri’s head? That he is not fucked with, only fucked. That he alone acts as his king’s chief advisor, the first to hear of his king’s tactical manoeuvers and the last to permit them. That he haunts the oversexed and underfucked fantasies of his king’s devoted knight. _

Writhing through Felix’s electrified shuddering, Dimitri says, “You’d best remember you’ve held the Dark Knight’s heart in your teeth all through this war.”

“As you’ve held _ mine_,” Felix slurs, outside of himself. The euphoria’s his undoing, his limbs spent, turned to nervous, twitching jelly without his notice.

Trembling through his words, he says, “I am sworn to him, as I am my king. Am I not _ entitled?” _

For the first time in many months, Dimitri’s laugh echoes through the tent’s threadbare tarp. Felix refuses to sleep in his quarters; he’d sooner rip his own hand off clean through the bone than allow his fellow soldiers to accuse him of suffering any less than them. 

And so, night after night, Dimitri comes to him. He can’t say the thought of the Dark Knight joining them doesn’t arouse a simmering lick of desire in his stomach. 

But here, now, Felix lies against him, fucked out and wet with warmth, and with his right hand he pulls Dimitri down by the back of his neck. 

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the LLF Comment Project (including the LLF Comment Builder), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates responses, including:  
Short comments  
Long comments  
Questions  
“<3” as extra kudos  
Reader-reader interaction  
This author replies to comments.


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